Last day of August . . .
sitting at the edge of
the woods on the
“thinker’s bench,”
looking down on
Siglin’s Pond—
a small body hidden
by trees and bushes
heavy with red berries—
its water full and healthy
under a sky layered in
a low ceiling of puffy clouds.
Lilies in full bloom float
close to shore—leaves on
the surface bobbing gently
in the small currents made
by the wind. They appear
as party guests, moving
in and out of conversations,
circulating slightly, as if
looking for possibilities.
At my foot is a devil’s
paintbrush; beside it—
another small daisy-like
flower. Wryly, I wonder
what kind of gossip
would they share with
each other, seeing as
they live in the same
neighborhood?
That is of course, if
wild flowers could
talk to each other. If so,
they would be like
housewives gossiping
over a fence—that is,
if there was a fence.
Would the conversation
be different from the water
lilies some yards away?
Their respective lives,
after all, would be
understood from
different perspectives.
I realize it’s time I stir
from the “thinker’s bench,”
and move on to less esoteric
thoughts somewhere deeper
in the woods.
Poem by T.P. Bird
T.P. Bird is a retired industrial drafter/designer and minister. He has published in a number of journals and is the author of a chapbook, Scenes and Speculations (Finishing Line Press), as well as three full collections: Mystery and Imperfection (Kelsay Books); Somewhere Beyond the Body (Wipf & Stock/Resource); American Narratives (Turning Point); A Loose Rendering (Golden Antelope Press). Bird lives with his wife, Sally, in Lexington, KY.
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